


And the Dead Shall Outnumber the Living

by serenbach



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Gen, Lewis Fright Fest 2013, M/M, implied character deaths
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-01
Updated: 2013-11-01
Packaged: 2017-12-31 03:01:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1026493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serenbach/pseuds/serenbach
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hathaway, as it turned out, had issues with the word ‘zombie.’</p>
<p>For the Lewis 2013 frightfest. Warnings for implied character deaths.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And the Dead Shall Outnumber the Living

Hathaway, as it turned out, had issues with the word ‘zombie.’

“It’s inaccurate,” he complained on one of their quieter walks through the fenced-off military safe zone. “The word ‘zombie’ refers specifically to corpses reanimated by witchcraft, according to West African traditions. ‘Revenant’ might be a better word – from the Latin meaning ‘returning.’ Or even ‘draugr,’ from the Old Norse ...”

“Does it matter, lad?” Lewis interrupted. “The only good thing to come out of this is that we don’t have to do any paperwork. Figuring out what to call them is the least of our problems.”

“I can’t take the word zombie seriously,” Hathaway frowned, staring out into the distance. Once, not that long ago, the lights of Oxford would have been visible; the sounds of traffic and church bells and civilisation audible despite the late hour. Now half the city was abandoned and pulled down, and there was nothing but careful darkness visible from their sealed-off military safe zone, nothing to hear but silence punctuated by the occasional distant scream. “I can’t believe any of this has happened.” 

“I know,” Lewis sighed. “Me neither.”

No one was entirely sure how it started – Lewis didn’t even know if there was anyone left trying to figure it out – but there had been the occasional report, long enough apart that they could be dismissed as being made by nutters or the intoxicated, of the dead getting up and walking. 

Lewis and Hathaway had laughed about it, once; right up until the moment a severely desiccated corpse rose up in the pathology lad and mauled one of Laura’s lab assistants. The poor girl hadn’t lasted half an hour after that, but that hadn’t been the end of it. She’d got up too, screeching and scratching against the barricaded lab door. 

They’d been overwhelmed by reports after that, death followed by awakening, never-ending and with no relief. They’d been hard pushed to keep order after that, to protect those still alive from attacks by both the living and the dead. 

The army had stepped in, eventually, evacuating the city and setting up barricaded camps. Oxford, the parts of it that hadn’t been demolished or burned in the fighting, had been left to the dead. Lewis still wasn’t exactly sure where Laura and Innocent had ended up (as well as many others from the station) though last he’d heard they were alive and as well as could be, in one of the other camps. Communication was sporadic, to say the least. Lewis had never thought he’d miss always being on the end of a mobile. 

He’d had no word of Lyn for a long time, though he knew that every city in the country had gone through the same thing as Oxford. He had to hope that she and her family were safe, and that someday they would all meet up again. To think otherwise was unbearable. 

They’d been cut off from the rest of the world for even longer. He didn’t even know exactly where Mark _was_.

It played on his mind _constantly_. Sometimes he wished he’d taken Hathaway’s advice; back before the trouble first got bad, before the roads were closed and impassable, and headed up to Manchester. 

But Hathaway wouldn’t have come with him. He’d have stayed in Oxford, doing his duty, and who knows what would have happened to him? At least Lewis had his awkward sod with him, still at his side. There wasn’t a lot to be grateful for, these days, but Lewis was thankful for that.

They’d both volunteered to help out in their camp, and when they had been discovered to be policemen, they’d been put in a role surprisingly similar to their old ones. Dealing with the civilians freed the military to focus on the zombies. People clung to the familiar in difficult times, and sadly, murder was familiar. Zombies or not, what was left of Oxford apparently still needed policing. 

That’s why they were out in the darkness, while most people huddled in the ramshackle buildings that had once been a farm. Another scuffle over supplies had broken out, leading to a death. Some things never changed. 

Lewis sighed again, and turned back to Hathaway, whose fingers were drumming silently against his torn trousers. He knew Hathaway was struggling with nicotine withdrawal, knew he wouldn’t mention it with everything else going on. He also knew that the lad was struggling with more than just that, his mind tearing itself to pieces with thoughts of despair and punishment and trying to figure out the reasons _why_.

(Lewis had stopped believing in reasons why long before this had happened.)

Was it any wonder that Hathaway spent his time fretting about terminology? It was better than worrying about what was out there in the darkness.

“Go on then,” Lewis said, trying to smile. “Why do we call them zombies? You know you are dying to tell me.”

“I believe Hollywood is to blame for that, sir.” James’ answering smile was wan, but there.

“Why I am not surprised?” Lewis murmured, rolling his eyes. “Saying that, I used to quite like -”

A shot echoed around the encampment, and they both froze for a second, before heading quickly for the nearest building. They all knew the drill; (anyone who had made it to a refugee camp was there as they had survived at least one run-in with a zombie) get inside, somewhere well-lit, and barricade the door. If you could find something heavy to hit them with, all the better. 

There was a second gunshot, disconcertingly close, and Lewis saw a flurry of movement out of the corner of his eye, just a moment too late to be able do something about it. He was on the floor, arms automatically raised to protect his face as a zombie scrabbled at him before he could think.

The zombie couldn’t have been over him for more a few seconds before James – who could have easily outpaced him if it had ever occurred to him – cracked a tree branch over the zombie’s head, knocking it away from him, just in time for one of the soldiers to shoot it in the head. 

“Sir,” James said, helping him up, sounding frantic. “Are you...” He trailed off, and Lewis followed his horrified gaze to the tear in the arm of his shirt. Lewis hadn’t even felt the bite. It wasn’t bleeding – zombie bites didn’t bleed – but it was vividly purple and swollen, spreading the infection, or curse, or whatever it was, around his body. 

It took half an hour, more or less. Half an hour for the victim to die and come back as a mindless, ravening monster. He’d never see Lyn or Mark again; never again speak to Laura or Innocent. 

He would be leaving Hathaway alone. 

Lewis couldn’t take it in, couldn’t believe this had happened to him. He’d have to leave the camp, though, that was one thing he was certain of. There was no way he was staying and becoming a danger to Hathaway, to everyone else. 

“It’ll be alright, James,” Lewis sighed, knowing the words were useless. 

“No, it won’t!” Hathaway exclaimed. His eyes were wide and very young in his pale face. “Nothing about this is alright.” 

“I know,” Lewis answered. “I know, lad, and I’m sorry, but I’ll have to leave. I can’t...” he trailed off, the thought of what was coming bitter in his mouth.

Hathaway nodded his head, words apparently failing him for once. There were tears on his face, though neither of them mentioned it. They walked together silently to the gate, watched warily by the soldiers. Lewis knew that if he hadn’t left the camp willingly, he would have been forced out at gunpoint, or just shot outright.

At least this way, Lewis had a chance to think of his last words. There was so much he wanted to say, messages he wanted to send to his children, his friends, words he wanted to leave Hathaway with, so that he would know how much his friendship had meant to him over the years, and especially now. 

He was so wrapped up in considering what had just happened, what to say, that it took him a couple of moments to realise that Hathaway had followed him out of the safety of the camp.

“What do you think you‘re doing?” Lewis snapped. “Get back inside.” 

Hathaway looked at him, but made no move to go back inside the camp. “I won’t leave you,” he said quietly, his voice very sure. “I won’t let you go alone.” There was grief on his face, and determination, and a depth of devotion that Lewis hadn’t been fully aware of, not until now, when it was too late to do anything about it. 

James smiled at him, sad and beautiful. “I’ve told you before, sir. If you go, I go.”

**Author's Note:**

> For anyone wondering "draugr" means "after-walker." The title comes from the _Epic of Gilgamesh_ which contains possibly the oldest written mention of the zombie apocalypse.


End file.
